


The Difference Between Living And Surviving

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean Winchester and Feelings, Gen, Hell Flashbacks, Hell Trauma, Hurt Sam, Lucifer's Cage, Not a Love Story, One Shot, Protective Dean Winchester, Random & Short, Sam Winchester Angst, Sam Winchester Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 02:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15451698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “He couldn’t live for his brother. Living was much worse than dying.” Dean Winchester struggles to live rather than just survive after his brother’s death.





	The Difference Between Living And Surviving

“If you do what you need, you’re surviving. If you do what you want, you’re living.” Unknown

 

**May 13, 2010**

**Stull Cemetery**

**Lawrence, Kansas**

 

They almost missed it. The ground stirred like a sleeping titan, breaking free of its umbilicus tethers with a choking burst of heat and wind. The ground opened up, swallowing moss-laced graves like a starving animal. One grave, still fresh with its grey sheen, ripped from the ground, circling into the portal. It barely made a sound over the deafening roar of the wind.

And with a single jump, Lucifer would be gone, but so would Dean Winchester’s baby brother. They did everything they could to stop him. In that future that wasn't a future, Dean had seen what the world would become if the devil wasn't stopped; his brother’s meat suit being yanked around like a puppet on strings, helpless to watch as the planet was deep fried. With the remainder of the ground crashing down around him, he could feel the world crumbling beneath his feet.

That's why Sam Winchester jumped; launched himself from the edge and spiraling down into a never ending darkness in a heart-stopping moment of weightlessness; wrenching the archangel Michael down to follow his fate. And Dean knew – they all knew – there would be no coming back from this. Lying broken, battered, and bleeding on the Impala’s cold metal door, there was only one thing left to do.

The Winchesters’ lives have always been tangled in the threads of a never-ending cycle of revenge. They had been raised and trained as hunters to avenge the death of Mary Winchester. His father, had fallen victim to his own brand of betrayal and deceit, died selling his soul to the very demon who’d done the deed. But as the eldest, living Winchester stared at the feet of the trench coat clad angel, Sam’s voice echoes in his head.

“ _It’s okay, Dean, I’ve got him….”_

All Dean can utter as he stared at Castiel, the angel of Thursday, was,”Cas, are you, God?”

Castiel smiles, it’s soft, barely noticeable, and he presses his fingers against the human’s forehead. “That’s a nice compliment, but no,” Looking at the sky longingly, he continued,”But, I believe he brought me back.” He walked over to Bobby Singer, placing a smooth hand over the seasoned hunter’s twisted neck.

“Bobby…” Dean breathes, staring in awe at his surrogate father as his eyes began to water again. “…..Cas-“

Dean has never wanted to touch Sam more, hold onto him like they did when they were kids. Cold winters in a cheap motel, his warm breath against the nape of his neck, sleeping close and secure whispering promises that would never be fulfilled. He’ll never hear his voice again. He’ll never see his face early mornings, exhausted with the imprint of a table’s edge stamping his cheek and a steaming cup of coffee in hand. He remembers diesel fuel, old rusted car frames. His baby brother grinning like an idiot, afternoons fixing up the Impala. Grease and gasoline. The oldest Winchester never thought he was happy then. He was such a fool.

‘My little brother… oh god, my little brother's dead.’

“…Cas,” He chokes out, his head hung in shame at the next words that come out of his mouth,”I can’t keep that promise. God fuckin’ damn it, I can’t, no, I won’t do it,” He stared bitterly at the ground beneath his feet, images of hellfire licking at bare flesh ingrained in his eyes,”I won’t just go and live some apple pie life while h-h-h-he….” Another grainy image; meathooks digging into thick, boiling flesh as screams are muffled through mouthfuls of blood,”It goes against everything that I am.”

His voice is deadpan, a vestige of calm that feels demented. He waits, but no one answers. He can only stare at the lush green blades beneath his fingertips and remember the night he let his brother walk into the devil’s waiting arms. It was only hours ago. It feels like decades.

The angel doesn’t speak at first, his mouth a thin line. When he does, his voice invokes a tone of wariness,”This is a path that you do not wanna follow, Dean.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about what I want,” The remaining Winchester seethes.

“He’s right, son,” Bobby says, and for once his input is not wanted,”I don’t know what you expect me to tell ya, hell, I’ve got no right whatsoever to dictate where you go from this point. But, I think we both know… this isn’t what Sam would have wanted.”

Wanted – Past tense as if he’s already gone. Acknowledging that his baby brother is dead is easy; accepting it is damn near impossible for him. Accepting it means he knows that he is okay and that he will continue to be okay, despite what happened. He’s not okay. And, in that exact moment, Dean feels like he will never be okay again.

Dean didn’t reply, not until after a long moment,”I would die for him, but I won’t live for him,” He gulps, trying to compress the right knot in his throat,”He can’t ask that of me. He, no one, can just expect me to go on without him… Not after every single damn thing we’ve been through together.”

“This is the same pigheadedness that damns all of you Winchesters,” Castiel sneers. There’s a sound of ruffling wings and then the angel is gone.

 

**September 24, 2013**

**Singer Salvage**

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

 

Time passes until it manages its own type of monotony. Dean spends his time picking his way through town after town, taking up freelance jobs. The monsters seem much more frightening now that he’s alone. Others still linger, but they feel distant as if they were dead too – He’s not okay.

The kitchen rag runs down the shaft of the machete, tracing the scars, remembering the hunts again and again and again as the emptiness fills the voids in Dean Winchester. He’s getting to know the darker places of his mind and his imagination. And his very own mind is what serves as a constant reminder… He couldn’t live for his brother. Living was much worse than dying.

Bobby Singer enters the room, his entire body tense. Dean can imagine his expression. The remaining Winchester has hardly spoken since he got back from the hunt, and Bobby is worried, so he'll try to force it out. The old coot thinks he understands him better than himself, and before, maybe that was true. But now, he knows nothing. Dean was not the fool he once was.

“I heard you took care of that vamp’ nest in Clearwater, all by yourself,” The stiffness in Bobby’s voice suggested he already knew the answer,”I could’ve helped you out, you know. I’ve got nothing to do around here, but look after the phones and gather dust. Are you good?”

“I’m, uh, yeah, I’m-“ Fine? Such a blatant lie, but he couldn’t find any words to describe what he was feeling or if he was even feeling at all. “….Peachy.”

_From every corner, Dean’s undead enemies forms a living wall—a forest of fangs and bloody faces scream like animals in the darkness. They've lost their humanity in his mind. His machete cut them down like jungle vines All of them hissing defensively with their sharp, pointed, retractable teeth that emerge from their gums and extend beyond their human teeth._

_He’s deafened by the sound of metal slicing through flesh, bone, organs spilling on the floor until it bleeds into a blur of movement, background noise. Every drop of blood he spill reminds him he’s left his conscious behind. He chokes for air that doesn't come, terrified because he’s still covered in their blood. He keeps looking behind him as if he expects for there to be backup, a single someone to press up against him and keep him alert._

_The blood dries on his skin, cracks, pulls tight. The remaining Winchester is coated in its sickness. But all he remembers are his eyes—red-rimmed and empty, as he plummeted into the swirling darkness. He tries to tell himself that the baby brother he knew was lost so long before then – To make it easier to let him go. He can't let that be his last memory of him._

The _nest is cleared, and Dean is covered in blood. He muffles a groan at the fiery stab erupting through his shoulder, spidering agony clawing through his muscles with every pulse. His head swims dangerously, world reeling until he collapses onto his knees. He was so tired, but he had to keep on living, no matter how much it hurt._

“Just peachy.” Dean mutters, turning over the machete in his hands.

Dean had let go of calculation, battle plans and tactics; all of the things his brother had once forced him to practice, and let his instincts guide him. All he’d done for three damn years is think, hunt, kept himself ignorant; convinced that nothing else mattered, nothing, then just surviving. Because he couldn’t see the blatant difference between living and surviving.

The remaining Winchester presses his eyes closed. Revels in his own agony - that deep, raw pain of healing muscles cramping. Stabbed by his own knife. Stabbed by his own foolishness, and lack of backup. He was still used to having someone pressed to his back, a watchful eye to keep around.

"You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep pushin' like that. You gotta let it heal,” Bobby states.

"I'm fine," Dean grits out, winces as his muscles angrily tighten, has to hold his breath.

Dean moves on to the second side of the blade without hesitation. He’s cleaned it twice today. No matter how many times he cleans it, the blood still stains. He gathers the rag quickly, stood, and turned to leave. Bobby doesn't move to follow him.

 

SPNSPNSPN

 

The sidewalk glistens under the early morning sun, washed clean by a thousand raindrops and then a thousand more. It is as grey as the granite of the mountain peaks, new life growing in the crevices, tenacious, vibrant - tall wands of green upon wind-blown soil grains, each one so precious to the life it supports. Dean Winchester was walking unusually slowly, almost robotically, as if his brain was struggling to tell each foot to take the next step.

Dean’s eyes settled on a nearby bench and he sat with all the grace of a sack of wet cement. His body seemed to conform to the shape of the hard wood, even his face seemed to slacken and sink as if pulled by invisible strings gently downward. Sitting on the opposite side of him was a young man, long legs crossed over his lap, one hand grasping an off-white coffee cup and the other some sort of novel. The hunter was mesmerized by the yellowing pages with faint rain drops on them, most likely from the faint drizzle that had occurred earlier in the morning – How long had the man been sitting there?

As the young man turns, Dean can see the tilt of his nose and the untamed fall of his messy hair and Dean's heart starts beating triple time, because it looks like Sam. That's Sam. From under his messy chestnut hair peeked eyes of hazel and honey. They shone like sunlight on polished stone and hid a wealth of well justified mixed emotions. The hunter could feel the heavy silence over them, thicker then the uneasy tension in the atmosphere.

“Sam?” Dean finally gasped out.

The young man looked up from his reading, one eye brow raised. “Pardon,” He closes his book over one of his fingers, allowing it to settle in his lap, before continuing,”I believe you have me mistaken me for someone else.”

“No,” The hunter swallows thickly,”I don’t think so.”

The young man forces a smile, his free hand drumming fingers on the cover of his book. “My name is Samuel, I’ve never been called Sam in my life,” He laughed softly, his dimples showing,”At least not by anyone that _really_ knows me. You must be mistaken.”

“Sam –“ Dean’s voice has en edge of desperation to it. He needs for this young man to be his brother, for the mere implication that he has to go a second more without him makes him feel the urge to pull the handgun from the hem of his jeans and it aim it between his eyes.

Samuel flinches, and his lips come to form a thin line. He gathers his things, pocketing his book and tossing his coffee into a nearby trash bin. Before Dean can even utter another word, the man that resembles his brother in an uncanny way is rushing down the sidewalk, and it takes all of his willpower not to dash after him like a madman – He does after a few seconds.

“Why are you running away?” The hunter asks, slowing down to a bridal walk beside the young man.

“I'm not running from anything,” The young man argues, avoiding the latter’s eyes,”Unless you’re implying I have a reason to? I think it’s best you go.”

“Not until you talk to me,” Dean shoots back.

“You can't keep following me,” Samuel scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why not?”

Samuel stops in front of a square white building, with narrow windows in straight rows. There was nothing about it in the very least picturesque or attractive, for it was far too modern to at all suggest anything mediaeval or mysterious; it was just thoroughly mundane. The neon red sign on the front read: Healing Paws Veterinary Clinic. It was then that Dean noticed the pristine white lab coat folded over Samuel’s arm, a name tag clipped to the front that said: Samuel Campbell.

“Because this is where I work,” Samuel states crossly, his hazel hues narrowed,”If you follow me in here –“

“Just-Just let me talk to you, okay,” Dean proposed, holding up his hands in a form of surrender,”That’s all I want, just a little confirmation. If I’m wrong, then I’m gone. You’ll never see me again, and you can carry on neutering cats or defleaing mutts or whatever it is you do.”

The young man contemplated the latter’s words for a moment before exhaling deeply,”Okay, you've got five minutes.”

“Think about this for just one second. What if we think this is your life, but it's not,” Dean implies, motioning to the building behind them. Samuel blinks, flashing a ‘bitch’ face, but Dean continues,”Seriously – I know about things, things that aren’t natural, so this definitely wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen. I mean something like this happened to us a year or so ago, some dickhead angels – Maybe dijins – “

“Oh my god, you’re insane,” Samuel decreed, letting out a forced laugh,”I wouldn’t doubt it if you escaped from a mental institution. It would explain the bargain bin clothes and bow-legged walk.”

“Maybe,” Dean responds, with a snort,”Just let me prove it to you – What’s your name? Your job? Your family? Anything you can remember about your personal life?”

“Insane and an identity thief,” The veterinarian puts his hands in his pockets, leaning against the building nonchalantly,”What are the odds?”

“Just answer the damn question!”

“Fine. I'm Samuel Campbell, okay? I’m a veterinarian. I went to Stanford in early-college, then went to the University of California for veterinary school,” He ran his fingers through his long hair, his nails racking against his scalp,”My father's name is Henry, my mother's name is Millie, and I’m an only child.”

“When was the last time you talked to them? Or anyone,” Dean presses,”College friends, work associates, anyone? Hell, have you even been able to call any of them?”

“Okay, so what are you trying to say? Huh,” The veterinarian exclaims,”That I took the blue pill instead of the red pill? That I should account my shortcomings as a son or a friend – or someone to be in a relationship with in general – to supernatural bullshit? People fall out of touch, Dean! Sometimes people leave you and they never come back, despite everything that may have happened, that’s just how life is!”

“Maybe you don't remember, but I do. You're my brother. And trust me, you know all about ‘supernatural bullshit’.”

“...You're wrong.”

“You don't belong here, Sammy-“

“Stop calling me that,” Samuel snarls, pointing an accusatory finger at the shorter man,”Just stop!”

“It's who you are,” Dean utters.

“What do you want from me,” The young man whispers, his eyes softening,”I’ve got to get to work and you’re just… I don’t even know where to begin. Dean, I think you need help – You’re a man that believes in angels and dijins; fantasies that you’re trying to instill upon me! A man that you do not even know.”

Dean shakes his head,”No. I’m right, this life you’re living it’s a lie,” He gulps thickly, shaking his head,”You just don’t remember who you were –“

“Things are never the way you remember,” Samuel says, adjusting the coat in his arms,”Now just go, before I call the police.”

“…Sammy-“

“Time's up,” The young man ushers toward the doorway of the building,”You need to move on. The boy you want me to be is just a memory.”

“I’ll bring you back, I always do, Sammy,” Dean promised.

“Go. You’re a man with no grip on reality, that’s who you are,” Samuel states, holding open the door so he can speak,”And I know who I am. I'm just a man that’s about to be late to work, neutering cats and defleaing mutts as you put it.”

“That isn’t you. I know you.” The door closed, and Samuel walked away without another word.

 

SPNSPNSPN

 

"Castiel, if you've got your ears on, we need to talk. I know that I’m probably just finally going off the deep end, but there was this man – He looked just like Sam…”

"Hello, Dean,” Castiel's deep baritone resonated from behind Dean, making him jump.

“Damn it, Cas, how many times? You can’t just keep sneaking up on me like that,” Dean exclaimed, turning and glaring at the angel. The seraph looked at him, inclining his head to the side,”Plus, I didn’t expect you to respond so quickly.”

"I did say hello. You had your eyes closed as one usually does in prayer, but it’s almost logistically impossible not to 'sneak up' on someone in a vulnerable position such as that,” Castiel countered, with a valid argument, much to Dean’s chagrin,”What do you mean you encountered a man that looked like Sam? Did he bear some resemblance to your brother or was he –“

“He was Sam,” Dean insists, wrenching his hands in his lap,”I know it was him…”

“Describe your encounter in thorough detail.”

The angel listened intently, a frown scrunching his brow as Dean retold the tale of Samuel Campbell, a veterinarian that looked uncanny to his deceased brother. His hands hung loosely at his sides, fingers just touching the folds of his trench coat. His piercing blue eyes remained fixed on Dean as he spoke. Bobby, who had just entered the room, stayed silent throughout, his arms folded across his chest as he perched on the edge of the kitchen table.

“I apologize, Dean,” Castiel’s shark blue eyes are lax, his face fixed in an expression that almost resembles regret,”But, that was your brother,” He holds up his hand silencing hunters before they can open their mouths,”Samuel Campbell is an alias created for your brother.”

“An alias?”

“Yes,” The seraph sighs,”Your brother was raised from perdition precisely one week ago, but the damage had already been done. He was broken both spiritually and mentally, so it was deemed best that he be… rebooted, so to speak. He was given an entirely different life; a construct of memories derived from his past ones, and set loose to live on his own –“

“And none of your superiors thought it wise to tell me?” Dean hisses, barley managing to feel his anger back in,”He’s living a lie – Did he even get to make this decision for himself?”

“No,” Castiel states,”But, it was for his own good, Dean. You have to understand this-“

“Bullshit! The entire apocalypse train was thrown off the rails because of one thing – free will! And still you angel dickheads can’t respect it,” The hunter barks out, his green eyes narrowing dangerously,”He deserved the right to make a decision like that for himself – _Hey_!” There was a flutter of feathers and the seraph was gone.

 

SPNSPNSPN

 

A full five minutes pass and Dean is prepared to give up on Castiel returning when there was a knock on the door. He was barely aware of himself opening the door. Sam is standing on the doorstep, his hazel hues wide at the sight of his big brother. He was crying. He stood there staring into Dean’s eyes, only he was crying. Dean could see the tear tracks running from his eyes across his temples, and could hear the slight hitching of his steady breathing.

“Sam?” Dean asked. There was a flicker of movement across Sam’s lips, as though he wanted to speak, but he wasn’t letting himself. Dean used his thumbs to wipe the tears off of his younger brother’s apple-kissed cheeks,”You remember?”

Dean swallows hard. The elder brother steps closer, his entire body wrought with tremors of fear or excitement, maybe both. Sam bows his head and collapses against his older brother, his arms curling around Dean’s waist tight as a bow-string. And the hunter stumbles into the living room, his younger brother still in his arms.

The room is silent. The younger brother turns away again; Sam’s cries have a rawness to it, like the pain was still an open wound. He clasps onto the nearest something for support, anything, his brother’s solid body, and then his whole is beginning to shake. The sobs are stifled at first as he attempted to hide his grief, then overcome by the wave of his emotions he breaks down entirely, all his defenses washed away in those salty tears.

Dean craned his neck, trying to see his baby brother's face. Impossible as Sam pressed into him harder, pushing his face against his collarbone and trembling. The sounds coming out of him were not normal, not alive, not even sane. His baby brother’s fingers curled around his waist, scraping his side as if he was slipping away and couldn't stop himself.

“Whoa, whoa," Dean said, putting both arms around him again. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere. You're okay. I'm right here. How did you remember?”

“Castiel,” Sam chokes out weakly,”He gave me two choices; continue to live a lie or to live in reality. I chose reality, but now – I remember, everything. And I _can’t_ … I can barely see you past all of the hell, Dean.”

“What do you mean, Sammy,” Dean fears the answer,”Sammy?”

“I’m still down there, Dean,” The young man grits out, “I’m still in hell, at least in here,” He points a trembling hand to his temple,”All I can see is through a kaleidoscope of hell; the sounds of wind chimes are meathooks, the air is rank with sulfur, and everyone is rotting meat, masses of maggots and putrid juices that decay and decay but never wear away…” He sobs harder.

“God, Sam – We’ll…” Get through this? A lie. A blatant lie.

“I know it’s not real, but he’s starting to make some pretty convincing arguments,” Sam mutters, a sniffle not far behind,”I mean he says you’re not real – It’s hard to argue when both parties are using the same argument! ‘You’re not real’.”

Dean cries quietly, gently rocking his baby brother back and forth in his arms. Sam continues to ramble about maggots and peeling finger nails and how the devil burns cold – Hell is like anyone would expect it to be, its like Hell; Sam just lived a whole other level of it. And now Dean is forcing him to relive it more because he is afraid to be alone.

 

**1 Week Later**

 

“Sam Winchester is damaged beyond all repair,” Castiel voices, his eyes on the little children on the playground,”I did not allow my superiors to do what they did out of cowardice, Dean. I went along with it because I truly believed that Sam didn’t deserve to have to live through a single moment more in Hell. Now, you see that.”

“Yes,” Dean gulped, adjusting in the park bench,”So, now things are just going back to how they were? Sam Winchester is Samuel Campbell. A veterinarian that had no idea what the supernatural is and sits on a park bench every morning before he goes to work, reading a book and drinking coffee?”

“Precisely,” The seraph replies,”By allowing Sam to become Samuel, you are allowing him to live a life he never got to live; an apple pie life. And maybe, he will somehow get to know you again. Fate is an odd thing…”

“No,” The hunter says, shaking his head,”Not this life. He deserves to go his own without me dictating what oath he leads. Maybe this lifetime, he will get to choose his own path… No demons, no hunting, not a single damn supernatural thing… Just mortgages and barbecues.”Before he could say anything else, a brief fluttering sounded and Castiel was gone. Dean huffed.

"Bye then!" Dean shouted, looking up at the sky. "Damn angel…" He shifts as he feels someone occupy the space that Castiel had just sat in.

“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean states.

“Thanks,” The young man smiles, holding out his hand,”My name is Samuel, Samuel Campbell.”


End file.
